As much as I originally wanted and planned and plotted to write about exciting adventures and all of the cool stuff that I took up when we left California and planted ourselves in Colorado, I find myself totally stuck and not wanting to write, to share, to open up about anything these days. It seems that life has taken a turn or two, and the idea of ‘tales and trails’ is false. To wax poetically about our mountain adventures is absurd because we’ve settled, recently, into a pretty basic and boring life. Not that it’s a bad thing, as some stability after a year or so of uncertainty and, at times, turmoil, has come as a relief. BUT… It also feels exceedingly boring, and I think that there’s a part of me that is embarrassed about the mundane quality of my day-to-day life experience.
Perhaps I should include something in the name of this here blog that truly resonates with my life – “Elevated tales of a mid-life crisis”?
At any rate, the mid-life crisis is REAL. I think – no, I know – that I’ve referred to it here and there, but I’ve tried to treat it with a lighter tone, not making a big deal out of anything, because why would I do that? The truth is, however, I find myself questioning everything in my life, from my decisions that I made back in college (yes) to smaller forks in the road over recent months. There is no ‘straw-that-broke-the-proverbial-camel’s-back’, but a multitude of small grievances and frustrations and an accumulation of self-doubt. I started to look around the internets to see if there were good articles and/or blogs on women and mid-life crises, but apparently most of them touch on the idea of “how to feel more attractive in your 40s”. REALLY? That is supposed to lift my spirits and my existential angst? Rather than getting a nip/tuck here or investing in a new wardrobe, I’ve considered getting yet another dog or two – it seems like a more productive use of time and money. It does not, however, really answer any of the questions brewing in my mind.
I’m thinking that last week, maybe, was the nadir – I had cooked up a nice big pot of lentil butternut squash soup, early in the week and was looking forward to NOT having to worry about dinner for the rest of the week. And then, ahem, someone burned it. Not just a bowl or a small pot, but the entire pot of soup. The one positive is that the house didn’t burn down! But I was so incredibly and ridiculously and illogically upset. It seems that you are not supposed to cry over spilt milk, but burnt soup is a different matter altogether – I shed copious amounts of tears, most of which had nothing to do with the soup and everything to do with things that were intangible but pernicious – negative thoughts, rages against myself, my life and the world.
I can laugh about the episode now, shake my head at myself for being such a fool, but laughing it off doesn’t get at the heart of the matter.
I do plan on making yet another pot of soup this week, something to enjoy over the holidays with family. It’s not quite a peace-offering to myself, but it won’t, at least, feed my anger and despair.